


Still They Ride

by cosmotronic



Series: Journeys [1]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Holtzbert Week, Minor Injuries, Pre-Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 23:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11451162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmotronic/pseuds/cosmotronic
Summary: The accident is avoidable. Most things involving Holtz are. The trouble is, Erin doesn’t go out of her way to avoid them.Holtzbert Week Day One.





	Still They Ride

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not dead!
> 
> So, Holtzbert week. Holding my hands up as I tell you I'm playing _very_ fast and loose with some of these prompts because I just can't colour within the lines...
> 
> First up, Roller Derby (except not at all, really).

 

Erin squints. The ground is awfully close to her face, she thinks. She’s sure that the stars circling her head and the birds tweeting in her ear are illusionary, but it’s still very confusing.

“–rin?”

The disembodied voice spewing nonsense doesn’t help either.

“Erin? You in there?”

“Huh?”

“That was quite a tumble, eh? Anything busted?”

She turns her head towards the question, meets wide blue concern. A soft face, twisted in worry.

Holtz.

Erin groans and squeezes her eyes shut. Not against the pain, but something less tangible. Embarrassment, maybe.

She shifts, puts her palms down to push herself away from the cold earth. The second she does so she cries out, a cruel wave of agony shooting from her hand to ignite every sparking connection in her brain.

“Fuck!”

“Erin!”

“Owww… uh. Shit, Holtz. My wrist.”

She breathes through it for a minute, nausea roiling, then she carefully turns herself over, sits up. Holtz’s warm hand is on her shoulder, face so close she can feel the quickened breath on her own skin, can almost hear the other’s heart beating across the small distance. It’s just adrenaline, she is sure.

“Erin. Um. Oh. Is it bad? Do you need to go to the hospital? I, uh…”

Holtz hates hospitals, Erin knows this. But her arm is throbbing loudly, sharp points of pain sawing across her nerves. She flexes a single finger, testing. Tears spring to her eyes and a tiny whimper threatens to break loose and she presses her lips shut against it, breathes once and nods.

“Mm. Yeah. I think I should.”

“O-okay. Um, let’s find a cab. We should get over to 5th… be easier. You can walk a little bit, yeah? Let’s get those wheels off for now, I think… where are your shoes, um… or do you need me to call a, uh… an ambulance? Erin, I-I-I… my phone’s cracked, I’ll just–”

Erin puts her good hand out to take her friend’s fingers in hers, just a gentle squeeze, a reassurance to ease the ramble. Certainly not to distract them both with the simple pleasure of skin on skin.

“Hey–”

She stops, frowns. There’s something warm and sticky under her touch. There’s blood on Holtz’s hand.

She notices then the way Holtz is sat awkwardly beside her, not simply crouched down as she first thought. Her left leg is bent beneath her in a half-kneel, her right leg flat out and pant leg torn at the knee, dark red staining the material.

“Holtz!”

 

* * *

 

Erin rests her unhurt hand on Holtz’s unhurt knee, warmth radiating beneath the rough corduroy. She shuffles a little closer, twists her body against the hard orange plastic of the waiting room chair.

She dips her head, tries to find Holtz's downturned focus. Fails to capture the shifting storm and instead draws her eyes along the profile of her features, soft cheeks and straight nose and sulking mouth. And if she lingers on that mouth longer than necessary, on those full lips red and pouting, it’s only to help assess her friend’s emotional state.

“Holtz?”

Erin waits. Sighs and sits back in her chair again, Holtz’s uncharacteristic silence cloying in the thick hospital air.

Holtz has been growing ever more quiet since the cab; a cab that took only a little less than forever to find, Holtz’s frustration mounting with every unavailable taxi that sailed past. Erin had watched, muted as Holtz’s arm wavered and her mouth ran filth.

She’d seemed on the verge of tears, curled in the back of the one grubby cab they’d eventually managed to flag. Blinking across at Erin, mouth working on half-formed apologies and on checking and checking and re-checking Erin’s condition, mindless of her own injury.

Until her words descended into huffs and hums, her eyes sliding to stare from the window at the city crawling by.

Now, as they sit side-by-side in hard orange chairs, in a too-warm and too-beige waiting room, a flat nothing and a half-mile gaze.

Holtz is slouched and ever more distant, hand idly pushing one of her rollerskates along her thigh, back and forth. And then, as though on a bored whim, she rolls it abruptly down and over onto the empty chair next to her.

Erin winces; the loud scratchy drag of hard plastic wheels on hard plastic chair too much stacked on top of pain and irritation.

“Holtz. Can you, um, stop that… please?”

Her quiet plea goes ignored. Erin can feel the headache threaten, suffers it for only a few minutes longer.

“For God’s sake! Holtz!”

It’s harsh and sharp from Erin’s lips, and the rolling ceases instantly. Erin can see Holtz’s fingers shake and curl into the laces of the skate, can see her mouth bend down at the corner.

 

* * *

 

The accident is avoidable. Most things involving Holtz are. The trouble is, Erin doesn’t go out of her way to avoid them.

Holtz is ahead of her, disappearing rapidly around a bend. Erin quickens her pace, but her novice gait can’t match her companion’s slick agility.

“Holtz? Hey, get back here, speedy!”

Holtz reappears, slowly rolling to a halt a few yards ahead. A wide smile splitting her face as she squints into the sun, into Erin’s own smile.

She bends, affecting an odd little bow.

“My apologies, m’lady.”

There’s something in her outstretched hand, held between a pinched forefinger and thumb. Tiny, green and white, with a flash of yellow and it’s soft and beautiful and more and there’s a meaning there that Erin can’t seem to quantify.

Erin continues onwards at her awkwardly hasty pace. She’s distracted by the daisy, the slim lines of Holtz’s fingers, her friend’s amusingly chivalrous pose.

She stretches into the gesture, too quick and sudden and she doesn’t notice the dip in the path, only feels the way her leading skate catches and her body seems to take flight.

Holtz reaches out and their fingertips graze and their palms connect but it’s not enough. The momentum carries through and it’s a pirouette of disaster, a spin in slow motion as they tumble to the unforgiving ground.

The flower flutters down next to them, stalk broken and petals crushed in a tiny sympathy.

 

* * *

 

Holtz seems tiny and lost in her orange chair and Erin wavers, ashamed.

“I’m sorry, Holtz. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

Holtz is silent for a long moment, still a moment longer, then she surges to her feet. She seems to half-forget her leg injury, hisses as the pain reminds her and nearly stumbles. Erin reaches out unthinkingly to steady her, fingers clawing for an elbow, a hip. But her own hurt screams at her and she gasps and falters before she can make contact.

Holtz doesn’t notice the motion or the intent; she is already gone, limping her way across the waiting room. Erin watches her go, clear sadness and frustration warring with pain, immobilising her as Holtz turns a corner and vanishes.

 

* * *

 

It’s warm. The sun is shining and a light breeze ruffles the air. Sweet birdsong carries high over the muted rumble of traffic. Nearby a young mother plays quietly with a young child, an old man walking an old dog mumbles a greeting, and there’s not a ghost in sight.

Still Erin eyes the path before her with a little trepidation, wariness wrinkling her brow.

They start to move, Erin unsteady even with Holtz’s careful hands light on her hips, voice close and softly murmuring in her ear.

“Is this okay?”

Of course it’s okay. Erin warms at the focus, the careful and quiet attention at odds with Holtz’s usual cacophony of noise and motion. It’s a precious facet to the engineer’s uncut brilliance, shown only to a few.

Holtz hums happily and lifts her hands after a few minutes; Erin mourns the loss and turns to look at her companion, strangely desperate to keep an echo of their brief contact.

Holtz smiles, misreads her expression as fear.

“Go on. I’ll catch you, E.”

Erin smiles back, shuffles forward under Holtz’s encouragements, relaxing as she gains a little confidence. It’s not long before she’s moving fairly fluidly, not long before unease gives way to simple enjoyment.

Holtz is obviously far more skilled at this activity than she, looping in front of and around Erin like a bird about a sweet nectar, fun and fancy free, a sun-bright burst of motion. She’s showing off, but it’s not a prideful boast. It’s something else; a peacock strutting its feathers, a call for Erin’s appreciation, a message Erin’s seen before.

At one point Holtz takes her hands and pulls her along while she herself skates backwards at a rate that should be alarming.

Erin squeals, a sound of shocked delight so unlike her she’s not sure how it bubbles up so lightly. Holtz is grinning back at her, wildly cheerful, and it’s infectious. Encompassing, like everything Holtz does when they are together.

For half a second, staring into that face filled with joy and unfettered by any concern of reality, with the world whipping by smooth and easy, Erin thinks it’s the happiest she’s ever been. Erin doesn’t read into the thought, just adds her own clear laughter to the moment.

“H-H-Holtz! Slow down!”

“Hang on!”

“Oh! Holtz!”

They settle after a while, Erin continuing to climb in her confidence and Holtz swinging around to roll along by her side. Holtz is quieter now, initial peak of excitement levelling though her enthusiasm still shows in her sparkling eye and her toothy smile.

And a softer smile, sometimes, bent only for Erin.

Holtz will twirl ahead from time to time, that strange and familiar dance to catch Erin’s eye. And every now and then their hands will twitch together and they slow and sway, their motions almost in synchronicity.

Sometimes Erin will stumble, and Holtz will pull their bodies close as she steadies her with a quick grip or a curved arm, and Erin feels safe in the accidental embrace.

They skate along the paths, up and down for what must be hours. They stop from time to time, eat ice cream, rest their legs on a bench. Holtz stops to stare wide-eyed at a duck, eight ducklings in a row, and Erin stares at Holtz.

They don’t talk much. It’s oddly perfect.

 

* * *

 

Erin is appraising her swollen arm, cradled in her lap. It hurts a little less acutely now, but her fingers are tingling and she doesn’t know if that’s a good sign.

A pair of battered sneakers shuffle into her peripheral view, left leg favoured, then a packet of plain pretzels is thrust under her nose.

“Thank you.”

Holtz drops heavily into the chair next to her, snack packets rustling, one bag of cheese puffs already open with fingers deep within. She crunches, swallows. Seems to consider for a long time before responding.

“You gotta eat something. We’ll probably miss our reservations now.”

Erin blinks.

“You… _you_ made reservations? For dinner?”

Crunch. Swallow.

“Mm. Nothing fancy. Mexican place over on 82nd.”

“Oh.”

Holtz grunts and grabs an oversized handful of her puffs, rams them into her mouth. Crunches and crunches and seems to sink lower into her chair when she eventually swallows.

“You... said… you said you wanted to try it sometime.”

Erin struggles one-handed with the bag of pretzels, a half-hearted fidget as she tries to process the stilted conversation.

Holtz crunches and swallows once more before grabbing Erin’s bag from her, bursting it open and handing it back lethargically. Erin dips in, pops a salted curl on her tongue. They are her favourite, Holtz knew that of course, but in this moment they taste bland as paper.

They crunch and swallow together in silence, Erin more for something to occupy her mouth while she formulates the right words.

“Holtz… was this… was this a date?”

Holtz is silent, jaw paused mid-crunch.

“Oh. Oh, _Holtz_.”

 

* * *

 

“They’re rollerskates.”

“Yes.”

“Uh… thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

“Uh. Holtz?”

“Mm?”

“They’re… lovely. But why?”

“Oh! You’re coming skating with me.”

 

* * *

 

It’s the end of a long day. Nearing midnight; they should both go home and sleep it off. For some reason Erin can’t explain they are holed up in Holtz’s lab on the second floor of the firehouse, wide awake and brooding.

They’re not sat close enough to touch, but near enough to take a small comfort from the other. Erin thinks neither of them really want to be alone right now.

Erin’s wrist is immobilised in a cast, her mind perhaps a little dulled by painkillers, train of thought more ethereal and harder to capture than usual.

Holtz is worrying at her ruined pant leg, poking at the butterfly stitches beneath.

“Holtz.”

“Mm?”

“Don’t pick.”

Holtz lets out a small blast of air, drops her knee and grabs a small screwdriver from her workbench, twists it between her fingers.

Erin watches her. Her eyes are a little red-rimmed, still. Holtz hadn’t cracked in front of Erin, not at the hospital nor in the uncomfortable taxi ride after.

But she’d bolted for the bathroom as soon as they arrived at the firehouse, dragging her injured leg up the stairs alarmingly quickly, slamming the door and staying there for perhaps twenty minutes. Her sniffles and sobs stifled by the thick wood, but each as clear to Erin as signal flares on a dark and empty sea.

Despair. Erin knows Holtz isn’t upset with her, at all.

Frustration. Holtz is angry at herself for screwing up a special day.

Heartache. Because Erin didn’t _know_.

Erin has to do something, now. She slips from her chair, walks calm and steady to stand next to the hunched engineer.

“Holtz.”

“What?”

“You want to sign my cast? I know you’re itching to.”

A small frown mars Holtz’s brow as she works a marker over the plaster. Erin watches as she scrawls a crude pair of stick figures holding hands, tiny circles under their feet, a scruffy set of initials. Holtz hums a tiny sigh and Erin can see her frown deepen and crack; face trembling, eyes blinking, lip precarious.

“I just wanted to do something fun for you.”

“Holtz.”

“Mm.”

“I had a wonderful time today.”

Holtz nearly crumbles.

“But… I put you in the _hospital_ , Erin.”

“It was an accident.”

“But, _Erin_ -”

“Jill.”

The name makes her companion falter.

Erin’s unhurt hand curves against Holtz’s jaw and gently turns her face to hers.

“I had a _wonderful_ time today. With you.”

She leans in and presses a tiny peck on Holtz’s cheek.

Holtz is still for a small eternity, then very slowly she picks up the marker again. Adds another set of initials. And a little heart. Looks up at Erin, and Erin can see a desperate hope flicker behind tear-shined eyes.

Erin smiles and moves in again to press another kiss to the very corner of Holtz’s closed mouth. Then yet another, chastely, softly, bravely against her lips.

“Let’s do it again sometime, hmm?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> See you tomorrow :)
> 
> I [tumbl](https://cosmotronic87.tumblr.com/) if you want to poke me with a stick.


End file.
